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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666938">Telling the Truth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_dumpling/pseuds/little_dumpling'>little_dumpling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Psych (TV 2006)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Different Decisions, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Gen, Truth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:46:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>807</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_dumpling/pseuds/little_dumpling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“I told you before,” Shawn sighed and lowered his head into his cuffed hands, “I notice things other people don’t see. I’m not a criminal, and there’s nothing sinister to the tips I phoned in.”</p>
  <p>“Likely story. You see, we went by your place,” Carlton carried on, completely ignoring the glare Shawn was giving him at that particular reveal. “Your place was so clean, so devoid of anything, that even a jury full of idiots would find you suspicious.” Carlton paused, letting the words sink in, “Give it up, what are you hiding?”</p>
</blockquote><h4>What if Shawn hadn’t lied about being a psychic that first time he and Detective Lassiter met?</h4><p>AU for Psych 1x01. No spoilers for anything beyond the pilot episode.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Telling the Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Beta'd by the lovely lias9, back on LJ in 2009. Thanks so much for your help, even 12 years later! :)</p><p>A/N: I originally wrote and posted this in July of 2009. Even now, 12 years later, it still remains one of the stories I look back on fondly from that time in my life. I'm grateful to that small time capsule of the internet, because I have since lost so much of my old writing to data loss or mismanagement. But these few gems I still have and treasure, so I have decided I will post over a few of these here from my livejournal in the next coming months. This one was the first I decided to add.</p><p>(also of note: I know there is police procedural inaccuracies in this story. But this is just fiction, so please ignore them.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>“I’m serious!” Shawn cried out as Officer Allen slapped the cuffs on his wrists. “I just see things other people miss. You’ve got to believe me.”</p><p>His eyes darted from one cop to the other, his fear so apparent even in his stiff posture.</p><p>“That’s impossible,” The Head Detective snarled; he was so tired of this kid who had no respect for <i>The Badge</i>. “Get him out of here,” he nodded to Allen and McNabb.</p><hr/><p>Shawn sat in the corner of the station's holding cell and tried not to make eye contact with the other men inhabiting the area. This was not one of his best moments. But what more could he have done? It’s not like he had lied; surely they could see that.</p><p>Folding his arms around himself, as if for protection, he leaned back against the wall and let his eyes drift to the ceiling. He had to figure out some way to convince the cops that he’d been telling the truth.</p><hr/><p>The judge frowned at Carlton but signed the search warrant anyways. “I don’t see why this is so important that you needed to come over at eleven at night, but I am too tired to yell at you.” The judge handed him back the forms and tightened the cinch on his bathrobe. “Next time you come to my home in the middle of the night with a warrant, it had better be because someone has died, Detective. If not, <i>you</i> are going to.”</p><p>Carlton nodded as the judge’s front door slammed in his face. He only had six hours left to find something on this punk before the Chief would make him let the kid go.</p><p>“He sure was cheerful,” Barry, his partner, said dryly.</p><p>“Yeah,” Carlton was lost in thought as the two crowded into his Crown Vic.</p><hr/><p>Carlton jostled open the door to the kid’s apartment with the keys they’d confiscated.</p><p>The summer sun had just set and the small window on the far wall didn’t let much light in. Pulling out his flashlight, he checked the lights for danger before flicking them on and finally putting his torch away.</p><p>The apartment was decorated in dark colours mostly consisting of black, brown and red. The furniture was obviously rented, and last notice bills were piled on the table next to the phone. The place wasn’t overly clean, but it was much tidier than Carlton would have expected.</p><p>Walking through the small living room, he stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. The starkness of the entire room was kind of depressing. There were no notes on the fridge, nothing to clutter the counters, not even a bowl of fruit to brighten the drab, brown table. Except for two lone pineapples in the fridge, the room was completely devoid of personality and possessions.</p><p>“Bedroom's the same,” Barry said as she entered the kitchen and took in its bleak state. “Doesn’t it feel kind of...? I don’t know… <i>odd</i> to you? Besides the bills, there isn’t one bit of paper in this apartment, not even an address book or a phone number – and there’s definitely no evidence that he had anything to do with the robberies.”</p><p>Carlton looked around him and sighed.</p><p>“So now what do we do?” She asked. Sometimes Carlton forgot how young Barry was. She hadn’t even been a cop for that long, let alone a detective.</p><p>“Now we drag a confession out of the kid; all that time spent in that cell with those other criminals will have loosened his tongue. He'll be glad for an excuse to get out of there.”</p><hr/><p>“I told you before,” Shawn sighed and lowered his head into his cuffed hands, “I notice things other people don’t see. I’m not a criminal, and there’s nothing sinister to the tips I phoned in.”</p><p>“Likely story. You see, we went by your place,” Carlton carried on, completely ignoring the glare Shawn was giving him at that particular reveal. “And—”</p><p>“You had no right!”</p><p>“Your place was so clean, so devoid of anything, that even a jury full of idiots would find you suspicious.” Carlton paused, letting the words sink in, “Give it up, what are you hiding?”</p><p>“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” Shawn sighed to himself.</p><p>Carlton kept on with his glare, waiting for the kid to talk.</p><p>“I have someone who can vouch for me, for my abilities.”</p><p>Shawn winced as the younger detective handed him a pad of paper and he began to write down Henry’s contact information. He told himself after he left Santa Barbara, for the first time at 18, that he would never ask his father for help. He had told himself that he would never drag himself low enough to endure Henry's <i>I told you so’s</i>.</p><p>But at the moment, Shawn didn’t have any other choice.</p><hr/>
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